The Picklement
by Snotwing
Summary: NCIS and Warehouse 13 teams get thrown together when Tony is made victim to a viscious artifact. Pete and Myka are sent to investigate, and Gibbs does his best to stonewall the newcomers. Both teams vie for control, and Tony refuses to cooperate. UPDATED!
1. Prologue

**NCIS - D.C.**

Insanely expensive Italian leather soles slapped against the rough concrete of a back alley somewhere in D.C. Heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears, Tony DiNozzo pushed himself even harder.

Flash of blue to the left – Tony swerved sharply, reaching a hand out to push against the opposite wall as he turned into another, narrower alley.

There was a loud clatter behind him and DiNozzo vaguely registered that McGee was out of the pursuit.

He was on his own.

And he was closing on his target.

Tony grinned fiercely – he was gonna catch this son of a bitch.

More blue and he was swinging to the right. Tony's grin broadened when his brain finally understood what his eyes were telling him. The perp was desperately trying to climb a wobbly chain link fence and doing a poor job of it.

Without conscious thought, Tony whipped out his gun and called for the criminal to freeze.

The perp twisted around, still halfway up the fence, and reached into his coat pocket.

Tony shouted again, warning the man to put his hand where he could see it. The suspect ignored him.

Feeling a strange depression in his gut, Tony squeezed the trigger twice, somehow knowing that something bad was going to happen regardless.

The bullets hit the intended target, but didn't stop him from pulling … something out of his pocket. Tony wasn't able to get a good look at it, but he could tell that it was small – too small to be a gun. It didn't seem to be shiny enough to be a knife.

Before Tony had a chance to blink the object was lobbed toward him –

And then pain.

He felt wet running down his chest, arms, and legs. The overwhelming _pain_ drove him to his knees.

Looking down, he saw red. Heard his gun drop. White and gray edged his vision.

Straining his neck muscles, the agent managed to lift his head again.

Flash of blue streaking away.

And then it was black.

** * ** * ** * **

**Warehouse 13 – South Dakota**

Agent Pete Lattimer was bored.

After the incident with Lewis Carroll's Mirror, he wasn't allowed in the warehouse without 'supervision'. Apparently, neither Artie nor Micah trusted him not to 'play' with any 'potentially harmful' artifacts. Claudia's opinion didn't count.

So, here he was, in the office with Artie, bored out of his mind.

He sighed.

"Alright! That's it, I've had it!" Pete started at the unexpected outburst, but Artie didn't seem to notice. "Since you obviously can't find something to do, I'll do it for you!"

Pete blinked. Wow – Artie was really upset.

And he didn't even do anything. At all.

He'd just been sitting quietly, thinking the depressed thoughts of the utterly bored.

"Artie –"

"No! You have been driving me insane for the past week!" The stocky agent fished through the piles of papers on his desk. "An agent in D.C. was chasing a suspect when, boom, he woke up in a hospital, covered in burns and gashes."

"Um, Artie…"

"No! I don't want to hear it!" He shoved the rumpled file at Pete. "You will go check this out."

"But Artie –"

"No! Out! Go find Myka, you're going to D.C." Artie jabbed a meaty finger at him. "Which, thankfully, is many, many miles away from here. Now shoo!"

A cough had both men swinging around to the door that led out into the main space of the Warehouse.

"Ooh, look who made him grumpy." Claudia aimed a sly sidelong glance at her mentor. "I'm annoying. Can I go, too?"

"No." Artie glared at her. "You have chores."

"Rats." Claudia sulked for about two seconds, then brightened. "Pete, totally bring me back a souvenir. And not some cheesy over-priced doo-dad from a museum gift shop, either. I want something cool and authentic –"

"Okay, okay he gets it." Artie interrupted, looking like he was ready to forcibly shove Pete out the door.

"Right!" Lattimer raised his hands defensively. "I'm going, I'm going. I'll have Myka call you when we get there."

"You do that," Artie responded darkly.

Survival instinct finally kicking in, Pete hightailed it out the door, hoping that Myka wouldn't be too pissed at him for getting them sent off on some bogus assignment.

Well, it could be worse.

He'd just think of this as a forced vacation – back to a place he wasn't so eager to see again.

Right, this should be fun.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS – D.C.**

He came to slowly, at first only vaguely registering the steady, familiar blip of a heart monitor.

With a monumental effort, he prized open his eyelids.

Blinding white.

Groaning, he snapped his eyes shut again.

"DiNozzo."

Well, there was no mistaking _that_ voice.

Gibbs. _Shit_. If Gibbs was here then he must be in really, really bad shape.

His Boss hadn't even stayed with him when he caught the plague. Well – he hadn't until after they'd caught the bad guy.

Wait a minute – how long had he been out?

"G'bss." So, okay, his voice was sort of broken. The plague had been worse. Doggedly, he continued. "D'ja catch 'em?"

Tony turned his head towards his boss, still keeping his eyes tightly closed.

"No, Tony, we didn't catch him."

"Erg." He meant to protest, but decided he didn't have the energy.

Unable to fight, he slipped back into blackness.

** * ** * ** * **

After alerting the nurse on duty that his agent had briefly regained consciousness and then being reassured by three nurses, one doctor, and Ducky that Tony had _not_ just slipped back into a coma, Gibbs allowed himself a gusty sigh of relief.

Tony was going to be okay.

McGee had found the agent lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood three days ago and Gibbs' heart had nearly stopped.

He would never get used to seeing his agents down.

Ducky had said that the wounds appeared to be consistent with a low yield shrapnel bomb. Abby informed him that it would have been detonated less than thirty feet from his injured agent.

It was a very straight forward explanation.

Too bad it wasn't valid.

There had been no sign of any shrapnel _in_ Tony, nor had there been any at the scene. Abby hadn't even been able to pull any explosive's residue off of _anything_ at the crime scene.

Ducky maintained that only a shrapnel bomb could have delivered the same type of damage – jagged cuts and punctures, augmented with widespread first and second degree burns – all at once.

But there was _no evidence._

What if it was some type of prototype explosive? Something that couldn't be detected by forensics yet?

That was a frustrating thought – the suspect was a petty officer wanted for low level drug trafficking and possible murder.

This new development had everybody questioning themselves – trying to figure out _what the hell_ they'd missed.

Clenching his fists, Gibbs looked over at his _sleeping_ agent.

Tony would be okay – Gibbs could go back to work.

He was going to _catch_ the son of a bitch that nearly killed _his_ agent.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Okay, so this is my very first crossover – I hope you enjoy it. Please drop me a review – I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.


	2. Chapter 1

**Warehouse 13 – en route**

"Okay, so what do we got?" Pete asked perfunctorily while driving. After one really long-ass road trip (Artie was either too cheap or too stubborn to let them fly) they were only two hours from D.C.

Pete had decided that he was going to make the best of the current situation – and the case – as he could. That meant treating this bogus 'mystery' as a real case.

"What do _we_ got? We? Pete, _we_ don't got _anything_." Myka apparently hadn't reached the same conclusions. Of course, she was always testy after a long drive. "You. You got us _exiled_ from the warehouse on some wild goose chase. So _you_ got."

Wow. She really wasn't a happy camper. Pete shrugged.

"Okay, fine. What do _I_ got?" _Happy now, O Righteous One? _

Myka sent him a glare clearly stating that she was _not_ appeased before reaching into the side pocket of Pete's large black SUV for the file Artie had sent with them.

"It looks like…" Myka scanned the document, even though Pete was sure she'd already read it. "An NCIS agent had been chasing a fugitive when something happened. His team found him unconscious from unexplainable injuries. That was four days ago. Doctors report that the only likely cause is a shrapnel bomb, but forensics can't find any explosives residue on the scene. Oh, and there wasn't any shrapnel in the agent."

"Huh. Maybe this isn't such a bogus assignment after all." Pete frowned. If this was genuine then they would be dealing with one really dangerous artifact. Not cool. "Is there a statement from the injured agent?"

"No. Artie only pulled info from two days ago – the agent was in a coma then."

"Crap."

"We should start with his team. Maybe one of them was close enough to see what happened."

"Right. Where did this guy work again? NIS?" Pete's forehead crinkled as he tried to remember what Myka had said.

"NCIS – Naval Criminal Investigative Service." Myka corrected him immediately, tossing in a reproving glance for good measure.

"Ooh, I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"It might be a little tougher than usual for us to worm our way into this investigation."

Well, he wouldn't be bored any time soon.

"Is there anything in there about who these guys were chasing?" _C'mon Artie, give us something to work with…_

"No." Myka sounded very frustrated. At least she didn't seem to be upset with _him_ anymore. Pete relaxed a little – he hadn't relished working with a peeved partner for the duration. "No, there's nothing here. Just the incident report."

"Wonderful."

The two agents shared a determined look. They'd solve this, just like they solved every other case Artie threw at them.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS, D.C.**

"Anthony, just where do you think you are going?"

Tony groaned. Busted.

"Hey, Ducky, what a surprise." _Huge grin, _he thought_, c'mon massive there's-nothing-wrong-with-me-so-now-you-can-let-me-go-home grin._ "How are you doing?"

Ducky leveled him with a flat glare, seemingly not amused in the slightest.

"Get back into that hospital bed right now."

"Ah, c'mon, Ducky." Tony tried not to sound _too_ whiny. "The doctors said there wasn't anything important damaged. Just a lot of flesh wounds and some slight charring here and there."

Ducky turned purple.

"Anthony DiNozzo." The Scottish gentleman sounded scandalized. Tony raised his eyebrow. "You are extremely lucky that 'nothing important' was _damaged._ You were shredded by a shrapnel bomb –"

"Now, wait a minute, Duck." Tony grinned, even though a tightness in his chest made him uncomfortable. "I've talked to Abby and I know there wasn't a bomb."

"Then you a missing a significant portion of your memory – which, although not unusual, is rather concerning."

"No, Duck, I'm telling you, I haven't forgotten anything." Tony frowned. He wasn't even sure that Gibbs believed him on this. "I remember the guy throwing something at me and then running off."

Ducky sighed, looking like he really didn't want to pursue this argument any further.

"If you leave, Gibbs will worry."

It was Tony's turn to sigh.

Gibbs couldn't afford to worry about Tony. Whatever that drug dealer had thrown at Tony had been extremely effective. They had no way of knowing whether or not the dealer had more. If he did, he'd already shown that he was desperate enough to use them.

Gibbs had to catch him – and to do that he needed not to be distracted.

Especially not by having Tony puttering around looking like Frankenstein's Monster.

"Fine, I'll stay."

Ducky smiled sympathetically as he helped the younger man back into bed.

** * ** * ** * **

"Um, Boss?"

"What, McGee?" Gibbs snapped, not even looking up from his desk. He could hear his agent shifting nervously.

"Secret Service is here to see you – they're asking about DiNozzo."

"What the hell has he done now?" _Who has it out for him this time?_

Gibbs's thoughts immediately went back to Chip and Tony semi-hysterical behind bars. A cold knot formed in his stomach. He was _not_ about to let something like that happen again.

"I don't know, Boss. They won't say anything."

"The hell they won't." Gibbs growled, practically springing from his chair.

He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Tony will stay safe.

** * ** * ** * **

"How long do you think we've been waiting here?"

"I don't know!"

"Sure you do – you didn't have your watch _eaten_ by –"

Pete broke off when the door to the small conference room (that they'd been waiting in _forever_), burst open.

An angry looking, gray haired man stormed in. He looked to be somewhere around the fifty year mark, but still fit and, frankly, scary. He fairly reeked of Military. Pete wouldn't want to go head to head with this guy.

Deciding to open things on a friendly note, Pete stood up and extended his hand – half hoping the other man wouldn't break it.

"Pete Lattimer and this is Myka Bearing, Secret Service."

The other man glared, ignoring Pete's outstretched hand.

"What do you want with _my_ agent?"

"Um, so, DiNozzo's your guy?" If possible the gaze got colder. Pete glanced over at Myka who was being unreasonably quiet. She just raised her eyebrow. "We just have a few questions about what happened in the alley. Can we speak with DiNozzo?"

"No."

That was it – Myka couldn't keep it to herself any longer. Pete smirked. He suspected his partner had been trying to get back at him for getting them sent _away_ by letting the ferocious stranger roast him alive.

"Look, mister –"

"Supervisory Special Agent." The correction was quick and sharp. Pete glowered when the man refused to include his name.

Myka's jaw clenched.

"Look," Pete interjected in a falsely soothing voice, "we're not trying to step on anybody's toes here. We just have a few questions about the case and what happened in the alley."

"Is DiNozzo being charged with anything?"

Pete blinked.

"Um, no…" he answered, sharing a confused look with Myka.

"You have a warrant?"

"Ah, no…"

"Good." Pete took a step backward from the force of the word. "Get out."

The other man turned to leave, but stopped.

"And if you interfere with my investigation or get anywhere _near_ my agent I'll –"

Pete was sure whatever the man had been about to say would've been gruesome and terrifying. He was slightly disappointed by the interruption – now he was curious.

A small, dark haired woman stuck her head in the room.

"Gibbs, we found Markson."

_Gibbs_ didn't bother to acknowledge the statement.

"Grab your gear."

Pete opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the door being slammed in his face.

"That could have gone better," Myka commented dryly.

"Yeah. I wonder why he's so grumpy." Pete frowned. "What now?"

"Now…we need to talk to DiNozzo." Myka was wearing her determined look.

"But – that guy – you heard –" Pete pretended to protest because _damnit_ he didn't _want_ to deal with Gibbs and whatever unfinished threat the man had leveled at them. He knew that DiNozzo was their only real lead, though, and that they did have to talk to him.

If he wasn't still in a coma.

Myka seemed to echo his own thoughts.

"Artie says he was taken to Bethesda General. Let's just hope he's awake."

** * ** * ** * **

"What did you use against my agent?" Gibbs demanded furiously.

He'd been in the interrogation room with Markson for the past twenty minutes, but had learned nothing useful from him.

To all appearances, Markson was just a regular dealer – using his connections with enlisted men to grab the juicy customers. He had a couple of contacts in the Navy yard that let him in whenever there was a boat up from regions of the world where drugs were easy to come by. Men faced with having to let go of newly formed habits would pay a good deal of money for an easy score.

Nothing pointed to Markson having access to government secrets.

But the bomb – the weapon – he'd used on DiNozzo was definitely _not_ standard issue. Gibbs needed to know where Markson got it from.

Only the subject wasn't talking.

"Gibbs."

He glared at Ziva. She better have a good reason for interrupting his interrogation.

Not that he was getting anywhere.

"_What?_"

She jerked her head towards the hallway and he irritably scooped up the file he'd brought with him. Following his agent outside, he silently wondered if DiNozzo had remembered what had happened yet.

"McGee and I found a burn phone in a dumpster around the corner from where Markson started running yesterday. McGee has been running the numbers and has matched many of them against known 'customers'."

"You pulled me out here for _that_?" Gibbs knew she hadn't, but he was ready for her to get to the point.

"No," she shot him a reproving glare – presumably for thinking so lowly of her – but hurried on nonetheless. "This guy was an amateur. We found a voice message on the phone from a guy calling himself Big Al. It sounded like he was trying to sale something – this may be the guy that sold Markson whatever he hit DiNozzo with."

Gibbs grunted. That might be helpful. He gave Ziva a nod before going back to the interrogation room.

Time to find out something about "Big Al".

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and please review!


	3. Chapter 2

Artie deliberately tromped past Claudia, irritated that she had broken the vacuum cleaner _again._ After what had happened the last time she had tried to fix it, she refused to touch it except to depress the on/off button with her toe. Normally he would not mind _so _much, but he was eager to get back to his search for any record of an 'invisible bomb'.

Despite how pissy he had been with Pete earlier, Artie did think that this NCIS thing _was_ a legitimate case.

Eight hours into his search and he was no closer to an answer. Myka had called from D.C. not an hour ago stating that they had arrived safely and were going to start by checking in with the injured agent's boss. Sighing, Artie ran his grubbing fingers through his already-tousled curls.

Maybe he needed a quick refresher – it had been a few days since he'd looked at the actual _file_ instead of searching for a possible artifact. Quickly sorting through his notes he found the agent's name – Anthony DiNozzo – and typed it into his ancient computer.

The first thing that popped up was a picture of a handsome, smiling young man.

A young man that looked eerily familiar.

Artie frowned. DiNozzo.

The name wasn't ringing any bells, but the picture looked incredibly familiar. He _knew_ this man, and his gut was telling him that it hadn't been a pleasant meeting.

DiNozzo, DiNozzo.

No, wait.

_Anthony_ DiNozzo – Anthony…

_Tony._

"Mother of Mars!"

Claudia popped her head through the office door at his sudden shout.

"Artie?"

"It's him – the little green-eyed demon!" Artie tugged at his curls again. This was very, very bad.

"He doesn't look so little to me," Claudia commented as she peered over his shoulder curiously. "He actually looks kinda hot. You think you can, you know," Claudia paused to make a hand gesture that Artie ignored ,"introduce us?"

"Absolutely not! That cretin is a menace. Oh god." Artie franticly shuffled through the papers on his cluttered work area – obviously searching for something. "I have to warn Pete and Myka! Especially Myka."

* * *

"I'm just saying! It's a little rude don't you think?" Pete hunched his shoulders defensively.

"Pete, stop being so fussy." Myka was thoroughly frustrated with her partner. It had taken them two hours to talk their way into Bethesda – she was tired, hungry, and still blaming Pete for their being in D.C. to begin with.

Suffice it to say Myka Bering was not happy to be home.

"C'mon." Pete rolled his eyes at her angry look. "The guy was hit by an invisible bomb four days ago. And in a coma, for all we know. He's not gonna be happy to see us."

"Invisible bomb?"

** * ** * ** * **

Tony blinked. Here he was innocently escaping the clutches of demons in white lab coats when he stumbles upon two strangers talking about a remarkably familiar situation. After all, he _had_ been in a coma for a while.

Although invisible bomb was really a stupid name, it was pretty accurate.

He had to learn more.

** * ** * **

Pete and Myka spun around to face the eavesdropper.

He was good looking with a tall stature, green eyes, and dark hair. He was also wearing a pair of plain blue scrubs and a white lab coat.

Myka narrowed her eyes.

He immediately threw his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"Sorry!" He smiled disarmingly. "I couldn't help but overhear. Invisible bomb – it just sounds kinda unbelievable."

"Yeah." Pete stepped up. "You don't seem too surprised though."

The stranger grinned wryly and held out his hand.

"Doctor Krane."

"Fraiser?" Piped Pete, shaking the extended hand. He neatly dodged his partner's swinging elbow.

"Michael." Dr. Krane corrected with only mild irritation. Myka cleared her throat, glaring at Pete.

"Agents Myka Bearing and Pete Lattimer, Secret Service." She introduced smoothly. "You were saying…"

"Invisible bomb." Krane chuckled. "Sounds remarkably like a case that turned up only a few days ago. I suppose that's what the Secret Service is poking around for, hmm?"

"Actually, yeah." Pete tried not to sound suspicious, but his gut was acting up. He had a strange feeling that this "Doctor Krane" was probing them for information just as much as they were probing him. "Fellow by the name of DiNozzo – can you tell us anything helpful about his case?"

"'Fraid not." Krane smiled sympathetically. "Doctor-Patient confidentiality. Do you know what caused his injuries? It might help us treat him."

"Sorry," Pete smiled ruefully. "Classified."

"Well, looks like that's a stalemate." Doctor Krane shrugged good naturedly. "I'd be more put out about it, but it looks like DiNozzo is gonna pull through."

"Well, actually…" Myka sidled forward, smiling sweetly. "Not quite a stalemate. We'd like to ask Mr. DiNozzo a few questions." She ignored Pete, who was trying (and failing) to be subtle with his disagreement. He shook his head vehemently. "Can you tell us which room he's in?"

"Well…" The doctor hesitated.

"Matter of national security." Myka wheedled.

"Did you try his boss already?"

"He couldn't tell us much – he's still looking for the perp, actually. He's a bit tied up" _up-tight_ "or he would have come with us." Myka smiled again and stomped on Pete's foot to make sure he kept his mouth shut.

"Well, since you seem to have Gibbs' approval – DiNozzo is in room 308. Good luck!"

Myka thanked the doctor with another semi-flirtatious smile and grabbed Pete's arm before he could back away. She was so busy dragging her partner towards the elevator – and he was so busy resisting – that neither of them noticed Dr. Krane high-tail it to the nearest exit at a brisk – but not out of place – pace.

** * ** * ** * **

_Well, that was weird_. Tony thought to himself as he slipped out a side door.

There was no way Gibbs had cleared those two to question him. Something definitely seemed off about the two Secret Service agents – he knew Gibbs would have picked up on it instantly, as well.

But combine those two odd-balls with the freaky invisible bomb thing and – what?

The whole situation triggered a vague memory, but Tony dismissed it.

No way, right?

Well, whatever was going on, he had some digging to do before he answered _any_ questions.

That included Gibbs'.

Shit, but that was going to make his Boss mad.

Not to mention Ducky.

Belatedly, he realized that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, but there was no turning back. He was already committed.

Once outside, he made his way to the street and quickly hailed a cab.

First stop – the nearest library.

He just needed to be sure that his hunch was wrong.

Oh, please let his hunch be wrong.

** * ** * ** * **

"What do you mean he's not here?" Myka asked an alarmed looking nurse. The young Hispanic woman was clearly reaching the end of her rope.

As was Myka.

Pete stood quietly off to the side – he had a feeling he didn't want to get involved in any, er, _altercation. _

"I _mean_ He Is Not Here,' the nurse repeated irritably. She gestured at the empty hospital bed of room 308.

"Dr. Krane assured us that this was the correct room."

"You spoke to Dr. Krane?" The nurse looked surprised. "I thought he had gone home for the day?"

At this point – _right when it seems like we may be making some progress_, Pete thought – Agent Lattimer's pocket started buzzing.

Loudly.

Myka and The Nurse turned to glare at him, apparently deciding that _he_ was responsible for the interruption.

"I'll, uh, just take this outside." Pete smiled in a manner which he _hoped_ was endearing.

"You do that." Myka didn't seem affected.

Quickly, Pete stepped out of the small room and fished the Farnsworth out of his pocket.

"Hey, Artie! Tell me you have good news," Pete demanded as he flipped the contraption open.

"Pete! What? No, I don't have good news. Very bad, very, very bad news."

"Whoa, slow down Artie – what's wrong?"

"This –" Artie paused and suddenly Pete was looking at a picture of Dr. Krane, "this is Agent Anthony DiNozzo. You are not – I repeat _not_ – to allow this man to become involved in your investigation _in any way_. In fact, it might just be better if you didn't talk to him at all. He –"

"Uh, Artie," Pete interrupted. Artie swung the Farnsworth around so that Pete could see the older man's worried visage once again. "It might be kinda too late for that."

"Elaborate, please."

Pete fidgeted.

"Uh, well, you see… Myka and I are already at the hospital and – "

"You questioned him already." Artie's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Not exactly. He impersonated his doctor."

Artie groaned.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid-"_

"Uh, Artie?"

"Who in their right mind would hire this man as an _agent?_ He's always getting hurt and blowing stuff up – did you know that he _totaled_ my car?"

Pete stared at the small black and white image of his boss as the older man ranted on and on.

"So, you know this guy?"

"Knew, Pete, I _knew_ that guy. You remember the dodge ball on aisle 67a?"

"Uh, you mean _that_ dodge ball? Yeah." Pete rubbed his shoulder – he wasn't likely to forget _that_ dodge ball any time soon. "Picked up and Rhode Island Military Academy, wasn't it?"

"Where I met DiNozzo – Pete, trust me. You do _not_ want this guy involved in your case."

"Now, c'mon Artie, give the guy a break – "

Pete was talking to a blank screen.

He sighed – just great. The case had just become _more_ complicated.

"Pete!" He looked up to see Myka hurrying toward him. "Pete, that man we talked to earlier –"

"Wasn't Dr. Krane – I know. Artie called. It was DiNozzo."

So now what?

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Again, sorry for the long wait. But, now the fun begins. What's Tony up too? Should I write a flashback? How much does Gibbs know? Thanks for reading, and please review.


	4. Chapter 3

'Big Al' turned out to be a big, fat, dead end.

Emphasis on _dead._

Ziva wrinkled her nose.

She had seen many bachelor pads, but this one had to be worse than Tony's – well, worse than she imagined Tony's being. She actually had shown some manners and refrained from breaking into his apartment out of curiosity – not that she was curious.

Sighing, she pulled her attention back to the pig-den at hand.

Big Al's place was in an old motel-turned apartment complex.

The living room/kitchen/bedroom was littered with crumpled laundry – dirty laundry by the smell – old food cartons, used cigarettes, and men's magazines. The meager light let in by the two smallish north-facing windows was blocked by an assortment of clothes and newspapers that were either jammed in or stapled to the frames.

According to Metro – who claimed to have already processed the scene – Big Al had been found sprawled dead in his arm chair. His super claimed to have been trying to collect rent.

Ziva sighed again – the officers at the door didn't know cause of death. The body was long gone and there was _nothing but junk_ in left in the 'apartment'.

Snorting in disgust, Ziva left to join Gibbs in the hallway.

He was attempting to pull more information from one of the two cops stationed at the door.

_Already processed the scene, my ass._

_Tony_ could do a better job than that.

"Got your gear, Ziva?"

She nodded. Ziva knew without asking that she was in for a long day dodging cops at the metro station.

They did need to see the body and whatever evidence the cops had already carted away…

But, still…she wished Tony were here for this.

McGee ground his teeth in frustration.

He had just hit _another_ wall.

He was already miffed from being left behind while Ziva and Gibbs went to question Big Al – the suspect _McGee_ had found, thank you very much.

But now, after three hours of 'digging' on Secret Service Agents Pete Lattimer and Myka Bering and _nothing _to show for it – he was now considerably more than just 'miffed'.

Abby wasn't exactly a ball of sunshine right now, either.

She had begun alternately pestering him and Ducky because she had absolutely no evidence to process.

He sighed and wondered if it would be cruel to send her to visit Tony.

Sure, Tony annoyed him plenty – but did he really deserve a bored Abby in his injured state?

A beep jerked Tim out of his contemplation.

Ha!

At last – he'd turned _something_ up. He frowned when he realized just how little a something it was…

Lattimer and Bering were both legitimate Secret Service Agents – that much he could confirm, even with their service jackets being classified above top secret.

However, no matter how good a job the SS did with cleaning up their own records, it was very difficult to purge the records of _other_ organizations – and it seemed that Agents Lattimer and Bering had a _lot _ of interaction with the civilian world.

The first hit was a few articles in the upper-class newspaper of a small private school. The articles were weird – they described some supernatural event. The names Lattimer and Bering were only referenced once, in one of the articles, but McGee read through them all, just to be sure he had covered all his bases.

The four remaining hits were similar stuff. Strange suicides/destructive behavior in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Odd theories about several unsolved bank robberies.

McGee frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose – this stuff made absolutely no sense.

Sighing, he pulled the school articles up again. There had to be someone that could tell him more about these to agents.

And some clue as to why they were so interested in one pain-in-ass Tony DiNozzo.

Frustrated, Tony slumped against the nearest bookshelf.

While he consciously projected an image of near illiteracy – at least when it came to books without pictures – Tony actually read hefty tomes fairly frequently.

What he didn't do – what he absolutely and thoroughly detested– was research.

Researching was extremely unpleasant - which just so happed to be his current activity.

He'd hot-footed it to the nearest library – after being kicked out of the cab upon discovering that he had no wallet – and immediately delved into the ancient history section.

He'd chosen the ancient history section on account a vague impression of 'ancientness' he got when he thought back _really_ hard on the image of the small object that had been lobbed towards him. The object that had caused him so much pain – was just barely registering in his memory.

After arriving in the ancient history section he'd picked Egypt 300 B.C. Egypt was selected because he'd always thought the Egyptians to be terribly cruel – hello, inventing and invisible bomb is a very nasty thing to do - and 300 B.C. just because.

However, three hours into his 'research' he'd uncovered absolutely _nothing_.

It was time to call in some back up.

Mid-day, mid-week – normally Abby would be mid-case or three.

But not today.

The atmosphere was set – her lab was spotless, her computers and Major Mass-Spec were attentive and functioning properly, a cheery punk-rock song was blasting loudly in the background….

There was, however, no work for her to do.

Without one of Team Gibbs' exacting cases to work through – well, without _evidence_ from one of Team Gibbs' exacting cases – Abby had blown through all the standing requests submitted by the other teams before lunch.

Tony was still in the hospital – she would be, too, if Gibbs hadn't ordered her not to pester the recovering Agent. Her visiting hours were limited to less than three a day – and she had promised to bring a movie with dinner.

Both Tim and Ziva were busy. Jimmy wasn't, but Ducky had thrown her out of autopsy two hours ago.

In short – Abby Scuito was mind numbingly bored and there was no hope for reprieve.

Sighing, she contemplated changing the music to one of Ducky's Scottish dirges. It would certainly fit her mood better.

She was a forensic scientist with no evidence to analyze – that was like Gibbs not drinking coffee because there was _no _Starbucks or DiNozzo with no movie references because there were _no_ movies.

It was completely unnatural. The balance of Abby's whole world had shifted. Caf-pows! even held absolutely no appeal.

She was beyond bummed.

There were ways, though – ways to _get_ evidence.

All she really needed was a murder.

The Gothic scientist stared measuringly at her computer screen. She had mad skills – she know how to put out a hit on somebody. Of course, she would pick somebody _bad_ – like an evil terrorist or something.

Okay, okay. She couldn't, wouldn't really.

But she almost wanted to.

At the very least, she could hack into the Director's e-mail and –

_Brring, brr-_

Abby nearly leapt with joy when her phone rang. She snatched the receiver out of its cradle without regard for her own health or the safety of any of her precious computer.

She would have a bruise on her hip, and her back-up back-up computer might require some light maintenance.

No matter – she would put McGee on it.

"Tell me you have _something_ for me – _anything._ I can't take it anymore! Someone needs to die or steal some top government secret or _something!_"

In hindsight, Abby decided she should have opened with her standard greeting, instead of this … word vomit. What if the caller turned out to be a telemarketer or Billy from Legal?

Awkward.

"Uhm, hey Abbs."

Tony.

Tony had called her.

Tony had called her from somewhere that _wasn't_ the hospital.

Tony had called her from somewhere that wasn't the hospital and he sounded overwhelmed and slightly panicked.

On the one hand, she was totally going to kill Tony for getting himself into trouble again.

On the other hand, she could've kissed him for finally, _finally_ giving her something to do. Something that promised to be both exciting and _entertaining_.

What could be more fun than sneaking around Poppa Gibbs to help the irascible Tony DiNozzo extricate himself from some sort of picklement?

Even if she really was going to have to kill Tony when everything was said and done.

Pete sighed as Myka scoured the scene of the crime yet _again._

As far as Pete was concerned, there was absolutely nothing worth 'scouring'.

His gut was telling him that they would be more successful if they looked into this DiNozzo character – or course _that_ action had been strictly forbidden by Artie, who still hadn't explained his aversion to the mysterious DiNozzo character.

"Pete – you could _help_ me, you know," Myka called from her position across the dingy alley. She was squatting near a puddle of questionable origin. "After all – it is entirely _your_ fault that we're here!"

"Oh, not that again!" Pete was beyond tired of being blamed for anything and everything that had gone wrong on this investigation. "Besides, it's not like there's really going to be anything left for us to find – if there was anything in the first place. Hello!" Pete's eyes widened and his posture straightened as irritation flooded his voice. "It was an _invisible_ bomb. Nothing to see!"

Myka stopped poking at the puddle with some kind of swab thing and turned to her partner.

"You're right." She said, with an air of someone who'd just had a great revelation. Pete sure hoped, mostly for her sake, that it was a good one. "There's nothing to see."

Pete frowned. Some revelation.

More like stating the obvious. Myka, however, continued without regard for his increasing aggravation.

"That means that if there _is_ some clue here – it's probably still here, because none of the investigators could actually _see_ it. We need to call Claudia – find out what kind of clues an invisible bomb might have left behind."

"On it," Pete snapped – grateful for something to do. He pulled out the Farnsworth, desperately hoping that Myka's invisible clue actually existed.

**A/N:** I am so very sorry about the long wait – on this story and all of my other ones. To those of you still reading and reviewing: Thank you so much for your continued interest in my stories.


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